(I'll Follow You) Until You Love Me
by xIrelandx
Summary: UPDATE: Formatting issues fixed! / Descole's bizarre fixation on Layton isn't rooted in intellectual rivalry alone.


Descole's involvement in the affair at Misthallery was strange enough, but his prior knowledge of Layton was what stuck the group as oddest of all. Emmy bombarded him with questions as they waited for Luke and his parents to arrive.

"But he seemed like he knew you!" Emmy insisted.

Layton sighed, trying not to lose his patience with the girl. "I told you, Emmy; I have never seen the man before in my life."

Emmy wasn't pleased, but her further questions were cut short when Luke came hurtling toward them. Layton was a gentleman and so reserved by nature. He didn't touch others unless it was absolutely necessary, but he found himself thankful for Luke's exuberant hug. He ignored Emmy's glares (which Luke seemed entirely oblivious to) in favour of paying full attention to the child's chatter and the (surprisingly difficult) puzzle Luke had thought up on his ride to meet them.

Emmy didn't forget, much to Layton's chagrin.

"Have you given anymore thought about Descole?" she'd ask. They'd been back in London for a week, and as far as Layton could tell this was the longest Emmy's intellectual refactory period had taken.

Luke was seated across from her, next to Layton, small feet kicking back and forth on the sofa. He had been working on a puzzle before Emmy interrupted his thought process. Mouth full of tea that was probably a tich too bitter for his taste (but that he was insisting on finishing, because that was just what a gentleman did), Luke looked up to his mentor with raised eyebrows. He tried to swallow, but began choking. Emmy lunged forward to steady the cup and saucer in his hand; Layton patted him firmly on the back.

Odd. They acted like a family unit. Layton hadn't thought he'd miss having people to rely on again, having people rely on him.

"Are you all right, my boy?"

"Yeah," Luke choked out. "I just wanted ter ask, wot did Emmy mean 'bout Descole?"

The Professor sighed, fighting the urge to pull the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Rebuffing Emmy where this point was concerned was difficult enough, but Luke had become his protege for a reason. If the boy was even half as stubborn as his father, he would find the answer out for himself without Layton's knowledge, help, or consent.

Emmy answered for him. "Descole - after his machine collapsed but before he disappeared and all - didn't he just seem to know the Professor?"

Luke concentrated, eyebrows furrowing. "Well," he began. "It did seem that way - but the Professor's famous," his cheeks coloured. "Maybe Descole's just a fan. You know, of archaeology or something."

Layton smiled warmly, avoiding Emmy's eyes. "I'm sure that's correct, Luke, my boy. Now, would you like a hint? I can give you three..."

Emmy huffed and pouted, but left the issue alone for the time being.

Emmy wasn't the only one apparently perseverating on the issue. Despite the relative lack of activity in the world of adventure, Layton did find himself on the receiving end of some admiration. The sender most likely meant to keep his identity a secret, but Descole was so awkward and clumsy with his attempts at affection that even the first puzzle he sent simply reeked of desperation. The answer, in fact, seemed a random jumble of letters until Luke pointed out it was a cryptogram. Emmy solved it out loud, if only to rub its message in the Professor's face: "Remember me."

Luke was only eleven then, his mind a sponge but distracted easily by nearly all of his surroundings. He couldn't remember their discussion from several weeks ago, cupping his chin with his pointer finger and thumb in thought. "But how do we figure out who it is if you can't remember them? That clue's hardly helful!"

Emmy opened her mouth to reply, but Layton cut her off. "Yes, it is quite the mystery."

The puzzles didn't stop there, and Descole's - or should he call the man Jean now? - attempts at flirtation only got stranger and more obvious. Somewhere along the line, the puzzles and riddles desolved into telegrams and little gifts. Not the ordinary kind - when he and Claire were together, he sent her flowers and chocolate; she, in return, would present him with boxes of tea or biscuits. Descole's gits were...akin to the dead mice and rats cats would bring their human charges. In fact, one of the little presents was a dead bird - not a real one, thank the lord. It was a small toy, burnt to a crisp, but it looked well enough like an actual bird that poor Luke teared up upon seeing the thing.

"Calm down, Luke; it's only a toy," Layton comforted.

"But still! That's s-so disturbing!"

Layton had to agree. Clearly, Descole had a mind to impress his rival. Unfortunately, his would-be suitor only left Layton with a feeling of mixed exasperation and confusion.

Eventually, Descole started to actually show up. Not at the office, or even on university grounds. But whenever Layton was asked to help solve some mystery, some grand puzzle, chances were good that Descole would be there in the background or somehow involved. Very rarely, he was the main issue. He seemed more content to watch the proceedings, like an innocent voyeur.

Emmy no longer cared about Descole's vague and distant relation to Layton. All she cared about now was the reason why he stalked them everywhere. She caught an accidental peek at him while investigating a crime scene. There was a puzzle etched out in what appeared to be blood. Layton and Luke stood over the letters and numbers in parallel poses, bouncing theories back and forth. Descole took a sharp look at their visage, normal smirk turning into frown. The mask which obscured his face made it impossible for Emmy to tell which of the two was on the receiving end of his glare, but she didn't trust in the idea that Descole had lines he wouldn't cross. He was desperate to get Layton's attention, and so bodily dragged Luke to stand within Grosky's reach.

"Emmy," the Professor's look was thoroughly unamused. "What on Earth -"

Emmy pointed in Descole's direction, and the man in question blushed comically before slipping away from the crowd.

Layton sighed. "What on earth is he doing here?"

"I don't know, Professor, but I don't like the look he was giving Luke." The two turned their heads to where Luke stood, attempting to argue with the inspector. Whatever line of defence Luke was using wasn't working very well, as Grosky only chortled and patted his behatted head. "I think," Emmy said through gritted teeth, "That it's about time you had a talk with your boyfriend."

Layton flushed, half in anger and half in embarrassment. "Descole is not -"

Emmy didn't listen, huffing off to stand behind Luke. There was, still, some point to what she'd said. Layton would have to talk to him if he wanted all this nonsense to cease. So he started in the direction Descole had fled, following the puzzle pieces the other man had left behind like breadcrumbs for Layton to find. The professor ignored puzzle after hidden puzzle, feeling an immense irritation growing in his stomach at the idea of all those enigmas left behind. He only hoped that they would still be there upon his march back, or that the blasted cat from Misthallery had tailed along with them.

"Descole?" Layton called. The cave in which he now stood was as dark and damp as any he'd ever been in. He reached to the top of his hat, touching a patch of wetness from where rainwater dripped from a stalactite (stalagmite?) onto his hat. He hoped no bats made their abode here, or at the very least that the did not awaken at his call. "Don't you want to know my answer to your puzzles?"

Descole stepped out of the dark at the prompt, hands still hid behind his cape. "I figured you would like them," he replied.

Layton shook his head. "I did not say I enjoyed your puzzles, only that I solved them."

"Would you be here if you did not enjoy our time spent together?"

The frown on Layton's face etched deeper. "Emmy believes you have untoward plans for my apprentice." Descole's manner did not change. "I think she believes you mean to capture him in order to gain my attention, and I'm afraid I must admit I see logic in her fears."

"I've got you here now," Descole said with a wave of his hand. "I no longer have reason to take hold of the boy."

Layton ducked his head. "Indeed, but how do I know you will keep your word?"

Descole made an awkward sort of bow to him, but his expression never wavered. "A gentleman always keeps his word, Hershel!"

Layton shivered at the informal use of his first name, his chest heating up in a pleasurable way. "Good. I hate to think what actions Emmy or I may take, should you break your word."

Descole smiled, wide. "I should be glad for the attention, Hershel."

Layton narrowed his eyes. "What is it you want with me, Jean?" The word felt strange on his tongue, brushing through his teeth with unexpected gravity.

Descole was drawing close to him now, too close. Layton's personal bubble had started to wear down over time with Luke's small but constant touches. The hugs, the grasping of hands, the tugs on his sleeve - they all seemed to be a quiz, leading him up to this test. Descole was now leaning in, close enough for Layton to feel the breath on his cheeks and smell the man's cologne, toothpaste, the wool of his cape. Descole's lips brushed over his own as the man whispered, "I think you know what I want with you."


End file.
